


I Flew

by angelgrace2011



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgrace2011/pseuds/angelgrace2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about Mr Cumberbatch when he got pneumonia in 2010</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Mr Cumberbatch, lord I wish I did. Also this is all fictional though it goes really good in my head.

Pacing silently, she stared at her phone as it sat motionless and quiet on her faux marble counter-top. It had been two hours since she'd texted him and forty-five minutes since she'd left him a voice message; surely filming must be over by now? All she wanted to do was talk to him, just hear his voice because, in truth, that was all she could do; there was less than a hundred and fifty miles between them, but right now it felt like a thousand.

She sighed; she had thought that the time apart would put everything into perspective. That the old adage of 'out of sight, out of mind' would come into play and that by the time she returned to the set the thing between them would of fizzled out and they would go back to just being friends; but it seemed that, in fact, absence did make the heart grow fonder and all she had done for the past two weeks was pine for him, especially since his call yesterday when he hadn't sounded quite like his usual happy self. The flu, he had said, but to her it had sounded like something more; his voice had been thick and tired, his conversation punctuated by coughs and sneezes but it still felt like there was something he wasn't telling her. Finally, unable to wait any longer, she tapped his memorised number into the keypad of her Blackberry and pressed dial.

Crushing the handset firmly between her left ear and the palm of her increasingly sweaty hand, she strained to hear through the vacuum of static for the faint click that would mean his phone was still switched off and would mark the start of another one-sided conversation with the annoying generic voicemail that she detested. She hated it; hated the bland robotic voice that was so much at odds with his own warm friendly open tone; hated the impersonal and frankly inaccurate message as there was not enough hours in the day for him to return every call he received, though she knew that she couldn't complain as he never failed to call her back, well eventually; but mostly she hated it because its beginning would signal the end of her likely chances of speaking to him tonight.

She swallowed, trying her best to wash away the hot bitter taste of disappointment that was already burning a path down the back of her throat, as she waited for confirmation of the inevitable; another night of loneliness and the complete draining of the bottle of expensive red wine that she had secreted at the back of her fridge. She had been saving it for when they could share it together, preferably in bed when he would do wicked and sinful things with it that would probably result in another trip to John Lewis to buy more new sheets, but after the day she'd had and the strange feeling that something was somehow very wrong that she just couldn't seem to shake, now seemed as good as time as any to partake in a little alcoholic anaesthetizing.

The shrill sound of the dial tone shook her out of her gloomy reverie, its high-pitched grating repetitiveness echoing through the line and reverberating around her living room breaking the oppressive heavy stillness of her flat. Closing her eyes and allowing herself to breathe a slow contented smile, she relaxed back against the hard stone of the worktop and counted along with the rings, one…two…three, quietly uttering each one in turn then letting them drop from her dry cracking lips to evaporate back into silence as she battled to keep control of her body; a fight she knew she was unlikely to win as her heart was already pounding rapidly, proudly and firmly, inside her chest and her limbs, covered in thousands and thousands of tiny tender goose pimples, began to tremble in eager anticipation.

Five…six…seven…he was certainly taking his time tonight, prolonging her agony longer than was really necessary; not that she'd ever expected him to answer on the first ring, no that would of been verging on a miracle, but this was getting just a little ridiculous as what possible reason could there be for him not to answer now? Unless, of course, she'd misjudged the time and they were still filming.

Nine…ten…eleven…It was easy to picture the probable scene in her head of what was happening all those miles away; the widening of his beautiful almond-shaped light blue eyes as the first bars of Marvin Gaye's 'Let's get it on' pierced the sterile air of the set, the indiscernible wilt of his glorious head of dark unruly curls as embarrassment slowly seeped in bringing with it a little colour to his naturally pallid cheeks and the apologetic smile that would be no doubt twitching on the corners of his perfect pale pink lips as he frantically patted each compartment of his characters' charcoal-black Belstaff overcoat in search of his phone.

It was even easier for her to imagine what would follow; the groans of frustration from the rest of the cast and crew as they realised that the early finish they'd been hoping for was all but a distant memory, the cuss-stained tongue-lashing he would receive from Steven about, yet again, having his mobile switched on whilst on set and the astronomical cost of filming on location, even if it was just Cardiff; but most satisfyingly, she could envision the mock anger in his voice as he blamed her for getting him into trouble, his playful insistence that would have to pay for her 'crime' and the perverse little punishment he would dream up in her absence that she knew would be more than worth her little mistake of ringing at the most inopportune time.

Fourteen…fifteen… "For fuck's sake, answer" she muttered impatiently into the handset, fighting the urge to bite and pick at her fingernails like she always did when she was nervous or stressed. He always seemed to know how to push her buttons and his disorganisation had always been one of them; he was well aware how much it irritated her, so much so, that she was sure that he sometimes did it on purpose; like now, he had known she was going to call, they had spoken every day whilst he'd been away and he'd even switched his phone on in preparation, so why didn't he have the damn thing ready in his hand?

Seventeen…eighteen… Her finger hovered over the cancel button; perhaps he was asleep? A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece told her it was later than she had thought, almost nine pm, so it would be quite easy to suppose that as he wasn't well that he'd done most obvious thing for him to do once he'd wrapped for the day and gone straight to bed; but this was Ben she was talking about and when had she ever known him to do anything that was obvious? Never was the simple and only answer she could give, and so it was more likely that he was fervently going over his lines for the next days' scenes rather than doing the logical thing of taking care of himself; and anyway if he had decided to hit the sack early he would have rung or at least text to tell her, wouldn't he?

Twenty…"Hello?"

The intense sensation of relief she felt at finally hearing him speak was almost indescribable; but it was all too soon surpassed by the enormous ache of longing that talking to him inevitably seemed to produce. She missed him; she knew it was wrong, she knew it was against every unspoken rule they'd agreed but somehow that didn't seem to stop it from happening or to stop it from getting stronger each day he was away from her. Gritting her teeth against the tide of unwarranted emotions suddenly surging around her body, she forced herself to focus on the positive side; at least he seemed brighter than yesterday, a little more alive, a little more animated but not yet back to his normal self. His voice, for instance, still sounded wrong, not his usual smooth even baritone that sent shivers down her spine and made her hair stand on end whenever he said her name; tonight it was quieter, weaker but mostly just too damn far away.

"Ben, it's me"

"Kelsey?" She could hear the frown and the sense of confusion in his voice, as if she was the last person he'd expected to ring at this time, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of puzzlement in return; had he not checked his phone? Had he not listened to the message she had left earlier? Had he not heard the thinly veiled desperation in her voice when she had practically begged for him to call her back?

"Of course, it's Kelsey. I called before, are you ok?"

"Kelsey?"

She rolled her eyes; he really must be out of it. Maybe it had been a mistake to call but her day had been shit from start to finish and what she needed now was for him to help her to forget it; forget the bump she'd had in the car when someone had run into the back of her when she'd stalled at traffic lights after being startled by his image on a billboard already advertising the play he was due to star once the season had wrapped on Sherlock, forget the extraordinarily large bill that had finally arrived from the plumbers for the repair of the pipes and forget the summoning phone call she had received at four in the morning to once again bail her baby brother out of yet another London police station. She wanted him, no needed him, to cheer her up, make her laugh at herself again and maybe, only if he was up to it, a little phone sex; something she'd discovered in the past fortnight that he was incredibly good at, but not quite as good as he was at the real thing.

"Kelsey? Kelsey, it's Martin"

It seemed to take an age for her befuddled brain to understand what was being said to her, but as full comprehension finally sunk in she felt herself stiffen. So there was a reason behind that niggling feeling that had haunted everything she had done all day; something had definitely happened as she knew that since they'd started seeing each other he never lent his phone to anyone anymore and it never left his side, even when he was asleep; its contents were intensely personal, private and left nothing to the imagination when it came to their relationship, due to the dozens of dirty text messages, explicit photos and the odd video held in its memory; but it wasn't just the fact that the phone was not in its owners' hand that ground her to a shuddering halt and turned her body to ice, it was the tone of her sandy-haired co-stars' voice.

"Where's Benedict?"

"Er…" There it was again, worry, concern, panic; she wasn't sure which emotion was the most evident in his voice, but whichever one it was she knew it wasn't good.

"Martin, where's Ben?" She asked again; the volume of her voice rising a little more than was probably required but she couldn't but feel that something truly awful had happened and she wished that he would spit it out rather than try to keep her in the dark.

"He collapsed…" Martin replied reluctantly, unsure of how much he should say under the circumstances. "On set. A couple of hours ago"

Oh god no, her mind froze on the simple phrase, repeating it over and over till it was all that filled her head, oh god no, oh god no, oh god no, oh god no, oh god no, oh god no, oh god no, no, no, no…

"Kels?"

Was she supposed to say something because she wasn't sure she could; her thoughts were shattered, broken into a million trillion pieces, that were all hurtling round her frazzled brain so fast that she couldn't slot any together to make any sort of sense and she could feel the first stirrings of a moan forming and rising from somewhere deep down inside of her; balling her right hand into a fist, she stuffed it into her mouth and bit down hard, the only thing she could think of to do to stop herself from crying out.

"Kels? Kelsey, you still there?" His voice was verging on frantic and she knew she needed to speak, needed to respond before he became concerned about her when he probably had his hands full already. Taking a final steadying breath, she removed her clenched hand and opened her mouth. "Yeah, I'm still here" she replied, hardly recognising her own voice as it shook with sudden and uncontrollable fear. "What's…what's wrong with him?"

"Pneumonia"

Her knees gave her a moment's notice before they buckled beneath her, but it still wasn't enough time for her to change the outcome and she fell heavily on to the hard wooden floor below her; she felt like all the air had left her body, like she couldn't breathe and was slowly suffocating on the floor of her flat, and she didn't care because that was easier to deal with than that single word; pneumonia, all she knew was that people could and did die from it; only a few months before Brittany Murphy had died from it, had just collapsed in the shower one morning and died before anyone had the chance to save her. Could that happen to Ben? Could he die too? Just the thought terrified her in a way she'd never believed possible and she had to shake her head vigorously several times to dislodge the image her mind produced of his long lean masculine figure cold and unmoving on a stainless steel mortuary slab.

"What was that? Kels, are you ok?"

Slumping forward, she pressed her forehead against the smooth stone of her breakfast bar, hoping its simple coolness would aid help herself think more coherently; somehow she had to keep it together as much as she wanted to do the exact opposite, somehow she had to pretend that everything was fine, that her world wasn't crashing down around her ears and in her line of work it should have been almost second nature to her; but right now it was the one role that she didn't feel quite up to.

"Sorry I…" she muttered, racking her brain for something, anything that could account for the large thud he would of heard of her body hitting the ground. "I knocked over a vase"

The explanation, though lame, was at least plausible, unlike some of the excuses they gave for the amount of time they now spent together; learning lines was their common one, it fell from their lips so easily that they no longer had to think about it and they said it so often it was a surprise anybody believed it or even bothered to ask anymore. Martin had heard more of them than most people but he never questioned them, never queried why they were rehearsing together even when they weren't appearing in the same scene, never asked why they shared a cab home when they lived at opposite sides of London and never enquired why they frequently disappeared back to the hotel during breaks from filming; but she knew he wasn't an idiot and though he may not say anything, she was sure that he suspected there was more going on between them then either one of them let on.

He doubted her now, she could tell; his unresponsiveness saying more than any words ever could and she could do nothing in return but silently curse him. Why did he have to choose this moment not to believe her? Why did he have to choose this moment not to just accept what she said? Did he not understand that she couldn't think? That her brain was steadfastly refusing to work in the way she wanted or needed it to? Screwing up her eyes, she willed him to tell her what he needed to hear from her to make him trust her.

The instant her eyelids shut together she regretted it. Her mind, already a thick sea of memories, was now a jumbled mess of images of the two of them together; on set, working hard but also taking the time to have a laugh every chance they could; on night's out, when they could barely keep their eyes and hands off each other; and in bed, when everything melted away and nothing else mattered than him being inside of her making her scream his name in his ear. Good times, happy times, the best times of her life.

"We all just thought it was a cold, you know? Maybe a touch of flu" her co-star said, breaking the uncomfortable empty silence between them for his own sanity. "But it didn't seem to bother him; he just carried on like it was nothing so we didn't think much of it till he keeled over halfway through a scene. But it seems he saw the doctor yesterday and was told…"

Yesterday? He had known yesterday? But they had talked yesterday; they had talked three times. As she ran back over their conversations from the previous day in her head, she couldn't deny that it hadn't become increasingly apparent throughout their calls that he was under the weather, but it had been the final call, when he'd rung her late on to bid her good night, that it had been particularly evident that he was unwell. His voice had deteriorated to a hoarse dry whisper, though making him sound even sexier than usual, had caused her to worry that he wasn't looking after himself properly; he'd laughed off her concern nonchalantly but somewhat hesitantly and had enticed her quickly with his bewitching, talented tongue into a vivid fantasy of what he would like to be doing to her right at that moment until she had cried out and begged for mercy, rending her incapable of coherent thought or remembering what her own name was. It was easy to see now that he'd done it on purpose, had distracted her from what was going on, something that was incredibly easy for him to do, but what she couldn't understand was why?

"Kels?"

"Sorry, I'm listening" she lied, as her mind was very much still fixed on fact that he hadn't told her and what that meant in the grand scheme of things when it came to the two of them. It wasn't like she was a fool, she was well aware that most people wouldn't describe what they had as a 'proper relationship', the term some would use was 'fuck-buddies' but it felt wrong to describe what they had as that as they did do other things than fuck, and though she disliked the term 'friends with benefits' she supposed it was more accurate of the two as there were many benefits to knowing Ben, not just that he was fantastic lover which he was, he was the best she'd ever had, but he was also smart, kind, generous, had a great sense of humour and was fun to be around but most of all he was her friend or at least meant to be; she had told things to him that she would never tell to anyone else and maybe that was why it hurt so much; she trusted him, with her secrets, with her body, with everything, so why didn't he trust her enough to do the same.

"I was just saying that I have his phone as I am trying to get hold of his parents"

"They are in Mauritius" she replied, vaguely remembering him mentioning it on their last night together before he'd left for Wales; the memory confusing her further as she couldn't reconcile the fact he would tell her about such personal information about his family being away but not about being ill. "With his sister and her family, they don't get back for another week I think."

"Right, I'm guessing that's out of the question then."

Wordlessly she commiserated with him, he sounded almost helpless and she didn't envy him at all right now, apart from the fact that he was there and she wasn't.

"Where is he now?"

She smiled weakly at the snort of derision that Martin gave, only Ben could produce that sort of reaction in someone when he was being at his most pig-headed and it gave her a little hope that maybe things may not be as bad they originally seemed.

"He's at the hotel," Martin said, his tone making it abundantly clear that he was not particularly happy about it. "The doctor thinks he would be better off in hospital so they can keep an eye on him and get the antibiotics into him quicker; but well, you know Ben"

"He won't go" It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact; she knew full well that he would not heed any doctor's advice and would carry on regardless until his body could take no more. She'd seen it last season when he'd caught a virus he couldn't shift and Olivia had run herself ragged trying to get him to rest; he'd carried on pushing until his body had said no more and he'd been bedridden for nearly a week.

"No"

Stupid obstinate bastard; did he not realise that people cared about him? That they disliked watching him slowly disintegrate every time he pushed himself to the limit and beyond? Did he not realise that they all worried about him, especially her and especially while they were so far apart? "He is going to be…" her voice cracked under the weight of the tears she could no longer hold back, they strangled her throat and leaked silently from her eyes. "Please tell me he is going to be ok"

The response was quick, honest but not entirely convincing. "Of course."

Silence once again dropped between them; they had run of out of things to say to each other and there was nothing he could say to stop the guilt that was slowly starting to trickle through her veins; she should have been there, somehow she would have made him see sense.

"Kels, I have to go."

She sighed; Martin was her one connection to Ben at the moment, a tenuous one but it made her feel just a little bit closer to him. "Ok"

"It will be fine, you know. Anyway, I'll call you tomorrow, let you know how he is"

"Ok" she repeated, finding it easier to re-use the same word than find a new one, as thinking was still close to impossible. "Thank you, Martin"

"Night"

She watched as the line disconnected and the screen on her phone flicked back on to its wallpaper; a picture taken of the scene of them dancing together as Sherlock and Amelia, a day she remembered well as they hadn't had to pretend and she had got to have him kiss her all day, all in the name of work. He'd sent it during the week along with a particularly filthy text message reminding her exactly what they'd done after filming, when'd he'd taken her frenziedly and roughly against the wall of the costume room when'd they'd been sent to change back into their normal clothes. The photo and memory had gotten her through some of her loneliest hours in the past few days, but right now even the remembrance of it made her feel like crap.

Letting her phone fall to the floor at her side, she rocked back on her knees and banged her head repeatedly against the end of her chocolate leather sofa. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Sit and wait for a phone call? Sit and wait to hear if he was going to be ok? She was already going out of her mind and it had been little more than a minute since Martin had hung up, if she was like this now what was she going to be like in a couple of hours?

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK" She yelled out to the empty room, still beating her head back in rhythm with her words.

When they'd started three months ago, their relationship was about having some fun; they were both young, hardworking and single, and they'd had a lot of fun, the sex was amazing and she enjoyed just spending time with him, but it was never supposed to be more than fun.

She wasn't having fun anymore, if anything she was scared to death.

Dropping her head into her hands, she finally allowed herself to sob out what she been holding back inside; fear, concern, anxiety, pain; she needed to be there, she needed to hold him, comfort him, take care of him; she needed to tell him that he meant more to her than just a good screw and that she wanted him, wanted to be with him. But what if he didn't want her? What if, for him, this time apart and this illness had shown him that it was just a fling and now it was time to get back to normal? Things like that happened didn't they? Especially to her? What if? What if? What if? Her head screamed out endless possible scenarios but none of them were good, but the choice in the end was simple.

Picking up her phone again, she scrolled quickly through the Internet until she found the site and telephone number she needed. Holding the phone to ear, she waited for her call to be answered. "Welcome to British Airways, you're through to Hannah. How can I help?"

"I need a flight to Cardiff and I need it tonight"


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the next chapter, it is not the greatest as yet but I will get round to re-writing it

It was nearly one in the morning when her taxi pulled up outside the crew hotel in Cardiff Bay. She’d been up now for eighteen hours straight but she couldn’t feel it; her body felt wired and alive, adrenaline pumping through her veins and her mind racing with thoughts both good and bad.

She couldn’t deny that for once she’d been incredibly lucky. Hannah had managed to get her on the 22:15 flight from Heathrow and had also managed to get check-in held until she got there, which took a rather hairy ride in a black cab and the offer to pay double the rate and whatever speeding tickets the cabby got in the process. All in all, it meant she had gotten to her destination in just over three hours, which was faster than she could have driven it. In fact, in the state she was in, if she had driven she would have ended up in a ditch within the first five minutes.

“Alright, my love?”

The broad Welsh accent of her Cardiff cabby cut across her thoughts and brought her back to the present.

“Yes, fine. Thank you”

It was a lie; now she was here the reality of what she was doing was finally hitting home but it was a little too late to turn back. She was here and now she just had to follow through on what she had planned.

She paid the fare, passing on an extra note for the drivers’ speed and silence, and then stepped out into the cool night air. Stopping twice on her way in, once to look up at the grand façade of the relatively new hotel that glowed orange under the lights dotted within the landscaped gardens, and then again at the entrance to take a very deep breath, she headed inside.

The foyer, as always, was surprising warm for such a modern hotel, despite the generous application of marble and glass; it was, as to be expected at this hour, deserted and the click of her heels against the tiled floor sounded incredibly loud, even to her own ears.

“Ah Miss Shorebridge, how are you this evening?”

Gavin Davies, the night manager of the St David’s Hotel was always welcoming; you could turn up at four in the morning, be blind drunk and he would still bestow you with a wide genuine smile that told you nothing was too much trouble; she knew what she was about to ask would test that but she still had to ask.

“I’m well, Gavin, really well. And you?” 

“I’m fantastic, thank you so much for asking” He replied, whilst typing her name into the hotel’s booking computer, then frowning when it didn’t come up with the answer he had been expecting. “Hmm. There seems to be some mistake, it says here you’re not meant to be checking-in until next Wednesday. I’m sorry; I will soon have this rect…”

“It’s not a mistake.” She replied, “I was meant to be arriving on Wednesday but got finished in London early and so thought I would come and take advantage of the Welsh air” she faked a smile, something she was never very good at, but he seemed to buy it anyway. “Problem?”

“Of course not, of course not though unfortunately it will mean that you will not be able to have your usual room”

“That’s fine”

“And obviously, I will need the ok from Mr Moffat or Ms Vertue.”

She hadn’t thought of that, but she definitely knew she did not want Steven or Sue to know she was here yet, she didn’t want anyone to know.

“There’s no need for that,” she said, smiling again but this one was less convincing. “I’m not due on set till Thursday and I am just taking some me time so I can’t really charge that to the BBC, can I?”

The little chuckle she added on to the end of her sentence sounded hollow in the empty space and echoed repeatedly, bouncing off each wall making her cringe with a sudden burst of embarrassment every time it reflected back to her. Avoiding eye contact, she reached into her bag and retrieved her purse. Opening it, she dug out her credit card and handed it over.

For the first time ever, his fingers seemed to take an age to process her check-in or maybe time had, for this minute, slowed down; whichever, it was she didn’t like it; she wanted and needed this to be over as soon as possible so her nerve would hold out. 

“Anything else I can help you with?”

This was it, this was the moment she had been waiting for and also fearing; the moment when she had to make the final decision about whether she was going ahead with her plan or if she was going to chicken out. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth…

It was the sound of voices that stopped her; some she recognised, some she didn’t, but it was obviously the crew taking advantage of the situation of not having work tomorrow; not with the lead actor being laid up in bed. She froze, this was exactly what she had hoped to avoid; hoping that by turning up at this late hour she wouldn’t bump into anyone she knew. 

Closing her eyes, she waited, waited for the inevitable moment that someone noticed her and the questions started, questions she didn’t really know how to answer; but gradually the voices and footsteps died away and silence returned. 

“Miss Shorebridge?”

As she opened her eyes again and realised that the portly and slightly balding night clerk was staring at her with some concern, it dawned on her that she was holding her breath.

“Erm.” she gasped, as she tried to return her breathing back to its normal even rhythm. “Gavin, I need a favour”

“Anything for you, Miss Shorebridge”

She took a deep breath; she hoped he was true to his word because if her plan was to come to fruition she really did need his help.

“I need you to open Mr Cumberbatch’s room for me”

“Mr Cumberbatch’s?”

“Yes”

She saw the smile falter for second, then spring back bigger than ever; obviously his answer was not going to be one she wanted to hear and he was trying to soften the blow.  
“Unfortunately, Miss Shorebridge, that’s against…”

“I know,” She said, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I know it’s against hotel policy, but I really need you to do this for me”

“I could call his room?” he said, reaching for the receiver of the phone on the counter, wanting to be helpful in any way he could. “See if he’s happy…” 

She covered his hand with her own; she didn’t want to cause a fuss or attract attention to herself, but she knew could not let this opportunity pass her by.

“There’s no need for that. Really, there isn’t.” Her voice still friendly, but she was rapidly losing her cool. “It’s late and he’s not well but I really need to see him. Trust me; I’m sure that he would be more than happy if you just let me into his room.” 

She watched as he considered her request again, the internal debate clearly visible on his face. “Hotel policy…”

The angry flare of her nostrils signalled the end of her tether; all she wanted was a favour not dictation of the company handbook. “Fucking policy, isn’t that the answer to everything nowadays. ‘Sorry, we can’t do that it’s policy’, ‘You can’t do that, it’s against policy’. Sometimes policy gets in the way of things that are, in truth, relatively simple. All I want…”

She stopped short, her fury abating as quickly as it had arisen in the face of his surprised and hurt expression, this time she had gone too far. She closed her eyes and reached into her pocket; she hadn’t wanted to do this, she didn’t believe in the saying that everyone could be bought for a price, but she hoped that Gavin could be. “I’m not asking you, Gavin,” she said, holding out the two neatly folded fifty pound notes for him to see. “I’m begging you”

The manager stared at the young woman in front of him and sighed; he’d seen a lot of things in his time working in hotels and he’d learnt during that time that by turning a blind eye to certain situations, such as visits of certain ladies of the night to high profile stars of stage or screen or to well-to-do businessmen, or by the passing on of seemingly innocuous brown envelopes whose contents were not always legal, that he could receive generous ‘tips’ in return. But this was something different; this was a desperate act by someone equally as desperate.

He took a plastic card from the stack, ran it through the electronic machine that printed the door information onto it and pressed it gently into her hand. “That won’t be necessary”

Kelsey looked down at the key in her hand and then back at the man behind counter. “Thank you” she mouthed, unable to find her voice.

He nodded and smiled. “Good night, Miss Shorebridge”

He watched as she turned and ran towards the lifts. Whatever was going on there, whatever was about to happen, was most definitely not his business.


End file.
